Black
by Em'sPride
Summary: Previously a oneshot, back due to popular demand! Basically Mark's view on life. I am discontinuing.
1. Black

A quick drabbe about why Mark wears black.

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Black

Even the word is kind of cool.

I don't understand why people won't let me dress in black without asking why I do. Does there have to be a reason why I do? There is a reason, but still…

I dress in black because it makes me feel stronger. It makes me feel different from my brothers, and it makes me feel like an individual. After all, Randy already has the brains, and Brad has the sporting arena down pat. There aren't a whole lot of areas of expertise left open for me.

When I dress in black, I feel as though I can hide my feelings; something I have tried to do all my life. Brad and Randy used to hit me, and I could rarely hold back my tears. One blow to the stomach after another, and then they would sense my weakness, and keep on hitting me. If I could hide my feelings, they may have left me alone. If it was anyone else, I could put them up for assault, but no, they were my brothers, so I had to forgive them.

Can you see why I wear black? Black is constant, and steady. Nothing can change black, nothing can affect it. I'm safe from exposing my true feelings.

Sometimes people ask if I get sick of wearing black…I don't. You can see every colour in black, yet it never changes. It can suck emotions in, and yet never release any of its' own. I guess in a way, black is my protector. It protects me from being me.

Will I wear black for the rest of my life – probably not. One day, when I find out who I really am, I think I'll wear more colours. But black is comforting to me, and my lost soul.

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Please read and review 


	2. Teachers

Okay, I decided to update this story. It was meant to be a one shot, but you guys seemed to like it so I continued. Hope this is okay, becasue I didn't really have much of a story to go with, but I think I've done alright. Most of it is just Mark's view on life, but there is a bit of a plot in there somewhere. It will come through a bit later on I think... Anyway enjoy, and remember I don't own any of Home Improvement.

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I don't necessarily mind that people don't understand me; I do mind when people try to change me. I can't just change who I am, my whole identity, just because some one said so. Most people just tolerate me, but some think that they can 'fix' me. But I don't understand how they think they can do that, because I'm not broken, just a little lost.

The worst offenders are teachers. They think that because I wear black I do drugs and have sex every night when I should be doing my homework. Like I would ever do drugs. I know what they do. They distort the mind, cloud up the subconscious. Why would I do that to myself?

One way teachers make enemies is by trying to 'help' them. That's why I hate most of my teachers. They seem to think I've been abused, or lead some terribly unfortunate life, so they offer a listening ear and a chocolate cookie, which I'm not sure is going to help anyone, except maybe an anorexic.

From my experience, English teachers are the worst. For example, take my English teacher, Mrs. Bates. She's completely convinced that I slit my wrists, and even sent me to the counselor once for 'therapy'. See there you go; she was trying to change me or 'help' me. I guess I should forgive her though; she's not sharpest tool in the shed.

She tries way too hard to be liked by everyone, and if she can't adjust to them, she makes them adjust to her, which is completely unfair. This brings me to the second way teachers make enemies; by trying to be friends. I must admit, I don't worry about this one too much, because half of the teachers are afraid of me and wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole. Once again, Mrs. Bates can be used as a primary example. She seems to be on a quest for complete universal popularity. Like just the other day, we got a new girl in our class, and Mrs. Bates welcomed her.

"Welcome to our school Helen, hope you enjoy your time here," she had said sweetly, with her plastered on smile. That was the smile she used when she was trying to make friends.

"Thankyou, I'm sure I will," replied the girl called Helen. She had a beautiful accent that seemed to billow around the classroom. Actually, I couldn't help but notice that she was quite beautiful indeed. She had short black hair, deep brown eyes and had on a pair of tight black jeans and a black T-shirt with a picture of Kurt Cobain printed on it.

Anyway, Mrs. Bates being the incredible fool she is, 'skillfully' picked up Helen's accent as one from the southern states. "Well, good to see y'all well," she said in a strongly emphasized southern accent. Helen just stared at the teacher for a while. "I'm from Australia," she said simply.

The class laughed and Mrs. Bates blushed wildly, and then, perhaps in an attempt to fix her already tattered reputation, she decided to say "Well sit down and throw a shrimp on the Barbie!"

I buried my head in shame; I was embarrassed to be in the same room as the imbecilic teacher. Luckily no one laughed, least of all Helen. "We don't have 'shrimp', we have prawns, and I'm pretty sure holding barbeques in the middle of school isn't part of the curriculum," she said smoothly as she sauntered to a spare desk in front of me. Mrs. Bates looked like she might have a heart attack from shock. She had never been spoken to like that before by a new student.

As you can see, the more teachers try to help and become friends with students, the more they don't help and the more disliked they become. It's really too bad that they can't see this, because it would save everyone a lot of time.

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Reviews are welsome. Thankyou for reading! 


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